


Weiss and Sark Hang Out and Make Cake

by sockiah



Series: Weiss and Sark Hang Out and... [1]
Category: Alias
Genre: Fluff and Crack, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 03:01:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sockiah/pseuds/sockiah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says on the box.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weiss and Sark Hang Out and Make Cake

Weiss clutched his briefcase close to himself as he sat on the rocking bus. He was in a foul mood, but it felt deserved as he’d been having the worst day ever, starting out with spilling coffee all over his shoes, and ending with his car breaking down.  
  
“Hey, I think I know you from somewhere. Do I know you from somewhere?” a British accent asked him from across the aisle. He looked up to see a smug looking blond in a nice suit.  
  
“I don’t know. Do you? My name is Eric Weiss.”  
  
“Oh. Like-“  
  
“Houdini!” Weiss interrupted excitedly. “Yes, do you want me to do a magic trick?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Hey! You’re Sark!” Weiss realized.  
  
“Right...” Sark gave him a look like he was an idiot, but Weiss couldn’t find it in himself to resent him for it. Sark just looked like a little snoogums, and he kind of wanted to smish him all up.  
  
Sark was staring at Weiss curiously. “So, what are you guys up to at the CIA tonight?”  
  
“Tonight? We’re not doing anything. I’m just about to go home and make dinner.”  
  
“Oh. That’s cool,” said Sark, catching himself as the bus lurched to a stop. “I would fancy myself some dessert, really.”  
  
“You know,” said Weiss, hardly believing that he was suggesting it, but what the hell, “you could come back to my place and we could make some dessert. I’ve heard the desserts I make are delish.”  
  
Sark looked him up and down, clearly sizing up the situation of being invited home by a CIA agent who he’d run into on the bus. “Sure,” he said. “But I should really call someone.”  
  
“Yes,” Weiss agreed. “I should call someone too.” Damn. He’d totally forgotten he’d promised to let Vaughn wipe the floor, er, the ice, with him at the hockey rink tonight. But Weiss was already dreaming of making some amazing strawberry cake, which would impress Sark so much that the man would probably just walk right into CIA custody. I mean really, his cake was that good. Everyone said so.  
  
“Hey Va- Mikey!” Weiss whispered into his phone. “So I’m not going to be able to make it tonight. I’m sorry! I just met up with a friend from out of town, so I’ll have to take a rain check on the floor mopping.”  
  
“Got the voice mail,” Weiss smiled to Sark.  
  
Sark glared at him, still on the phone. “I think I might... No, it’ll be a different point of entry.” Sark sighed. “I’ll just give it a try, okay?” He hung up his phone with a roll of his eyes and a sparkling grin at Weiss.  
  
Weiss couldn’t help it; he smiled right back.  
  
* * * *  
  
“Okay,” Weiss checked the batter that Sark was stirring up. “I think we’re going to want to add a bit more flour to that.”  
  
“Oh, more flour?” asked Sark, shooting Weiss a sly look with his eyes. He tossed a handful of flour at the CIA agent, and sprinkles of it hung in his dark hair, snowing down over his face.  
  
“Oh you  _didn’t_!” Weiss laughed, and wiped a floury finger across Sark’s nose, leaving a white smudge there. Sark giggled and went back to stirring the bowl of delicious looking cake batter, while Weiss measured out a bit more flour and dumped it in the bowl.  
  
This cake was going to be awesome, and he couldn’t believe who he had wrangled into helping him bake it. This was turning into one rollercoaster of a day.  
  
The light went off on the oven, indicating that it was done pre-heating and was ready for cake. “Okay Jules, do y’think it’s mixed?” Weiss asked.  
  
Sark looked at him rather helplessly. “You’re the master chef,” he confessed. It was adorable.  
  
Weiss checked the consistency of the batter, and had to admit that it was perfect. “Wonderful job, Jules. I should have you over to stir all my cake mix.”  
  
Sark looked a little proud of himself, and Weiss was proud for making him feel proud.  
  
“Okay, hold the cake pan, and I’ll pour the mixture in,” said Weiss.  
  
* * * *  
  
The cake was baking, but it still had about a half hour left. Sark and Weiss had been killing time by watching an episode of A Haunting on the Discovery channel, but now Sark looked stricken and pale.  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry Honey Bunches. Was the show too scary?” Weiss asked.  
  
“Did you just call me ‘Honey Bunches’?” Sark demanded.  
  
Oops.   
  
“Um, well, I...” Weiss trailed off, not really sure how to answer. Sark was standing there, looking all huffy with his eyes narrowed, and his lip pouted out.  
  
“Let’s just make this fucking cake,” said Sark, breaking the tension.  
  
Weiss breathed with relief. “Okay, let’s mix up some frosting,” he said, forcing a smile.  
  
Sark looked like he was about to dance and shout “yippee!” but he didn’t. Instead he just looked at Weiss sheepishly and said, “The frosting is my favorite part.”  
  
Weiss got out his electric mixer, and dumped in the frosting ingredients. He put in extra powdered sugar for the sugar-snookums who sat pouting on one of his kitchen stools.  
  
“Can I have one of the beaters?” asked Sark. “To lick?”  
  
“Absolutely,” Weiss grinned, handing the blond the beater with the more generous helping of frosting. He watched as Sark’s pink tongue worked its way around the bends in the metal, getting every last morsel of frosting off. He couldn’t look away, but Sark seemed to wrapped up in his treat to notice.  
  
The oven timer went off, and Weiss removed the cake. “M’smells dewishis,” said Sark, his tongue still wrapping around the beater.  
  
Weiss breathed in a lungful of the sweet smelling air. It sure did smell amazing. He looked over at his amazing new friend, and saw him dip a finger into the frosting bowl, pulling it out to lick off the sneaked treat.  
  
“Hey! Leave some for the cake!” scolded Weiss.  
  
“I do what I want,” said Sark firmly. Weiss smiled at him, and Sark smiled back, before dipping his finger back into the frosting.  
  
THE END.


End file.
